


Game Over

by sorrowfulcheese



Series: Sex, Lies, and Misanthropy [3]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Mass Effect 3: Citadel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 01:38:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrowfulcheese/pseuds/sorrowfulcheese
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One last fling on the Citadel before Shepard has to hit Cerberus HQ and then take on the Reapers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Game Over

    He watched Shepard as she concentrated on the game, memorised the patterns and dropped the little mass effect "claw" to pick up a prize. He'd given up playing after a while, and was simply enjoying the view.  
  
    It was good to see her relaxed, even just for a little while. The last year had put real strain on her, had affected even the way she walked. He missed the swagger. It had been replaced with a tense, grim march forward.  
  
    Zaeed looked down at the pile of prizes at his feet—plush dolls, music keys, and other cheap trinkets—with amusement. _All-in_ , he'd said, and she'd laughed because she knew that about him. But so was she, all-in, in everything she did. Including the war. Including the claw game.  
  
    The machine made a noise and a flashing light in the top of the cage flagged an arcade staffer, who hurried over with a concerned expression.  
  
    Or maybe that was just his face. Salarians always seemed to look concerned, to his eyes.  
  
    Shepard, it turned out, had won the last prize in the machine. Surprised, Zaeed looked down at the pile. It didn't seem like a lot, relative to the number of credits Shepard had spent playing. The salarian expressed some displeasure in the situation. Shepard expressed the need for a box to carry her prizes. The salarian hedged, all but accused her of cheating. Shepard's jaw tightened and her eyes blazed. One fist closed slowly.  
  
    Zaeed cleared his throat and moved quickly to stand between them. He explained as kindly as he could that Commander Shepard didn't need to cheat at a fucking kids' game, and would the salarian mind bringing a goddamned box before they needed to call management into it? That got the little bastard running; when he came back with a large box Zaeed stood over him as he filled it with Shepard's loot. Then Shepard directed him to have the box delivered to her apartment. This order was promptly obeyed, albeit with visible resentment.  
  
    Shepard looked at Zaeed then, and flashed a smile that was not quite her old carefree grin, but probably as close as she had gotten in months.  
  
    "I'm starving," she told him.  
  
    "Supper, then," he agreed. "Where?"  
  
    "I'm sick of Apollo's," she said. "You know anywhere else?"  
  
    "Depends what you want," he said. They turned together and headed out of the arcade, into the too-loud, too-bright Strip. He blinked against the neon, turned his head to look at Shepard. For a moment a red light shone on her, gave her cheeks a rosy look, reminded him painfully how young she really was.  
  
  _You could be her goddamn father, is how young she is._  
  
 _Oh, fuck off with that._  
  
    Shepard stetched her arms above her head, twisted her torso to stretch her shoulders and hips, exhaled and looked at him.  
  
    "I'm kinda in the mood for noodles," she said. "How about you?"  
  
    "All right," he nodded. "What kind?"  
  
    "Ramen," she replied promptly.  
  
    "I know just the place."  
  
    "Not that one on the Presidium," Shepard warned him.  
  
    He chuckled. "Nah, I know one better. Not quite as pristine as that, but I think you can handle less than pristine."  
  
    "Lay on, MacDuff," she said, with a grand gesture in his direction.  
  
    "Watched that Macbeth, have you?" he said, as he turned to lead her down the street.  
  
    "It's surprising what a good director can do with krogan and pyjaks," she said, and once again flashed him that playful Shepard smile. The one that tore him up inside.  
  
 _Idiot._  
  
 _Fuck fucking off._  
  
    He stopped at a rapid transit stand, ran his credit chit through the machine, and opened the car door to let her in first. Shepard raised an eyebrow. "Where is this place?" she wondered as she slid inside.  
  
    "On another arm," he said, and climbed into the driver's seat.  
  
    "I'm not sure I trust you to drive."  
  
    "You trust me not to shoot you in the ass when we're on the field, Shepard," he reminded her.  
  
    "That's different."  
  
    "Well, I hear that even with two perfectly good eyes you're a shitty driver," he said. "Not going to let you drive _me_ anywhere. Besides, I know where we're going, and you don't."  
  
    Shepard buckled herself in and leaned back in the seat, and Zaeed lifted off as gently as he knew how.  
  
    They were both quiet on the way. Shepard looked out the window at the buildings and people they passed. "Last day of leave," she said at last, softly.  
  
    He glanced at her, then ahead. "Oh, yeah?"  
  
    "Yeah. Normandy's getting her final once-over tonight, and we leave tomorrow to hit Cerberus HQ."  
  
    "Then you should be out celebrating with the crew," he said. "Not hanging out with me and eating noodles." He up-shifted, skinned past a slower driver, returned that driver's offensive hand sign.  
  
    Shepard turned her head to look at him, and he tried not to feel her eyes burning holes in his head. "What?" he said at last.  
  
    "I was looking for you tonight, you know," she said.  
  
    He ran his tongue over his teeth. "What for?" he asked, as nonchalantly as he could.  
  
    "Because it's my last night of shore leave. I wanted to see you before we go."  
  
    "Afraid I'll disappear on you once the war's over?"  
  
    "Yes."  
  
    He looked at her again, but she had turned her face to the window. "Well," he said, "I might at that. If I make it."  
  
    "You always make it, Zaeed."  
  
    "So do you, for all that, Shepard."  
  
    She did not respond, and was silent the rest of the way. Zaeed parked the car at the nearest stand, swiped his credit chit again to complete the transaction, and they got out of the car together. Shepard looked around with some interest at the slightly seedy area.  
  
    "Where is this joint?" she said.  
  
    "Just up the street here, on the left."  
  
    It was a noodle stand rather than a restaurant proper, but Shepard hopped up on a stool beside him without hesitation. That was one of his favourite things about Shepard: she didn't judge, and she didn't turn her nose up. She scanned the very short menu, placed her order, and gratefully accepted the beer brought by the silent server. Zaeed took a sip of his own beer, tried not to stare at her.  
  
    They ate their noodles and drank more than their share of beer between them; Shepard tried to pay for both of them and Zaeed tried to pay for both of them, and they argued playfully about it. The net result was that they agreed to split the bill, and he was pleased that he'd managed to make Shepard laugh for just a moment.  
  
    Back on the street they wandered a bit, enjoying the evening—a false evening, created by the Citadel's simulation programs, but who could tell?—and watching the people around them. At last Shepard sighed, a long and weary sigh, and Zaeed steeled himself and looked at her.  
  
    "Drinks," she said.  
  
    "All right. Where?"  
  
    "Somewhere loud."  
  
    "Don't want to talk, eh?"  
  
    "Don't want to _think_."  
  
    He hesitated. "Faster ways of doing that," he said, keeping his voice low. "And cheaper than trying to drink as much as it takes _you_ to pass out."  
  
    Shepard eyed him sideways. "What d'you have in mind?"  
  
    He shrugged. "I have some stuff." He glanced casually around, but no one was listening.  
  
    Shepard punched his shoulder and grinned. "Zaeed Massani," she said, and he felt his gut clench. He liked the way she dragged it out. _Zaeeeed_. "You've been holding out on me."  
  
    He rolled his eyes. "Hardly. It's only Hallex, it's not hard to get. Except in Council space." He grinned.  
  
    "Got it on you?"  
  
    "Yeah."  
  
    "Well, then?" She held out her hand, palm upward.  
  
    He batted her hand away. "Not in the middle of the street, little girl. You ever had it before?"  
  
    She shook her head. "No. Heard lots, though."  
  
    "Well, I don't know how you'll react to it. We should go somewhere you won't get yourself hurt."  
  
    She dropped her hands to her hips, mock indignant. "Are you implying I can't handle a little stimulant?"  
  
    He sighed. "Shepard, I've seen you walk off poisoning that would have made any normal goddamn human bleed out his ears in ten minutes, and you can stomach almost as much ryncol as I can. But this is different, and I don't know what it'll do to you."  
  
    "What does it do to _you_?" she asked, and leaned close.  
  
    "Makes it so I don't have to think," he told her. Her breath smelled faintly of beer and spice and he tried to focus on something else so that he wouldn't be tempted to kiss her.  
  
    "Then let's go somewhere," she said.  
  
    "What d'you have in mind?"  
  
    "My place," she said with a shrug.  
  
    "Thought you wanted somewhere loud."  
  
    "I'll turn up the stereo when we get there."  
  
    She nudged his shoulder with hers and turned to walk away. With a few beers in her, he noticed, a little of the swagger had returned. He watched her for a moment before he hurried to catch up. They hailed a taxi and had it drop them off on the Silversun Strip, and they walked to Shepard's building without running into anyone they knew. Shepard let them both in and locked the doors, ignored the apartment's automated reminder that she had new email, kicked aside the box of claw-machine prizes, and stooped to untie and pull off her boots. Zaeed hesitated, watched as she crossed the room in her socks, listened as she fiddled with the controls for the apartment's sound system. Without so much as a glance back at him she headed to the kitchen, withdrew two bottles from the refrigerator and opened them. At last she turned, gave him a once-over.  
  
    "Take off your armour," she said, "and stay a while."  
  
    "Not sure of the protocols, is all," he said.  
  
    "Zaeed, less than a week ago you fucked me on the couch in front of the vid screen." She gestured in that direction with one bottle. "You're officially not a guest." She set the other bottle on the counter. "That one's yours." She tipped her own and took a long drink, without taking her eyes off him.  
  
    Conscious of her gaze he unfastened his armour, dropped it in a pile near the door, shook out his arms and legs in his underarmour. From a little pouch hidden in one of his belts he tipped into his palm two of the half-dozen Hallex he kept in there for shits and giggles. It had been a while since he'd taken any, he had to admit. Been a while since he'd wanted to. Generally wasn't safe to be buzzed, not in his line of work. Not with enemies like his.  
  
    When he looked up, Shepard had crossed the room and peered into his hand. "Just one," he warned her. "Until you know what it does." She plucked a single pill from his palm and swallowed it with a mouthful of beer.  
  
    "Your turn," she said.  
  
    "I'm not sure—"  
  
    "Take one," she said, sternly. "We both need it, I think." She was right, of course. She was Shepard, and Shepard was always right. He slid past her to grab the beer she'd opened for him, downed the second pill and licked his lips. When he turned back, Shepard was gone. The music stopped and, curious, he wandered into the other sitting room, the one with the big vid screen.  
  
    Shepard was stretched out on the couch with her ankles crossed, absently flicking through a menu on the vid screen. Zaeed sat down on the end of the couch, made himself comfortable, and watched. "What's on?" he wondered.  
  
    "Nothing broadcast," she said. "But there's an impressive set of vids."  
  
    "What d'you like?"  
  
    "When I was a kid," she said thoughtfully, "when my dad was home, we'd curl up on the couch and watch old space vids."  
  
    Zaeed tipped his bottle and drank. "Like, what, ship records?"  
  
    Shepard snorted. "No. Adventure vids. Old ones, from before we started colonising." Zaeed turned his head to look at her. "Dad said they were built on our dreams. Even though we didn't know what might be out there, we imagined it and made vids to spread our vision of it." She looked suddenly sad. "I'm kind of glad he didn't make it this far. Never had to deal with Reapers."  
  
    "What happened to him?"  
  
    Shepard sighed. "He never wanted command—that was always my mom's thing." She smiled wanly up at the screen, chose a vid title at last, and waited for it to load. "He was a botanist, specialised in ethnobotany. He was always going on archaeological digs, checking out the way people used what plants in their cultures."  
  
    "Must have loved the quarians," he mused.  
  
    "No," Shepard said. "They'd left Rannoch long before he was even born, long before we even made contact with the turians. I don't know if he even know of the relationship they had with their flora." She sighed again. "He would have loved to have studied them, though." She took another drink from her bottle. "His team was studying some strange new variant that had cropped up on Eden Prime—something that had mutated from what had originally been planted." She looked at him. "It was a stupid accident, one that shouldn't have happened. One of the prefabs they were working in hadn't been properly fitted when it was slapped together. They were still using wired electricity for power. It started a fire. My dad got everyone out but one, and he ran back in to help that one when the whole thing just collapsed. Killed them both." She shrugged, looked down at her bottle. "I was on my first assignment, right out of boot camp. No one told me until I got back. They gave my mom leave, and she was waiting for me. I thought she was there to congratulate me—" She laughed, bitterly. "My assignment had gone very well, after all."  
  
    "I'm sorry, Shepard," Zaeed said quietly.  
  
    She shrugged. "I threw myself into my career after that. Did it for him. To make him proud."  
  
    "What about your mum?"  
  
    "She had already thrown herself into her career."  
  
    "I mean, you didn't do it for her?"  
  
    "My mom and I are career Navy, Zaeed. We didn't have anything to prove to one another." She shifted her position slightly, blinked slowly. "I think she was mad at him for dying, though. She never loved anyone the way she loved him."  
  
    "And you."  
  
    "No," she said, and lifted her bottle in a dismissive wave. "I love my mom, and she loves me. But she loved my dad more than anyone. More than anything."  
  
     _So did you, it seems_ , he wanted to say, but he knew better.  
  
    The Hallex was working its way into his system, and his fingers and the tip of his nose were beginning to tingle. He set his bottle down on the floor, leaned on the arm of the couch. On the screen, the vid was playing dramatic music over an inspiring montage of humans heading into space.  
  
    It wasn't his thing. He knew all too well what the vids—even the documentaries—were hiding, of the worst of humanity. As a young man he'd longed to get off Earth as soon as he could, and it was why he'd joined the Alliance. When he'd left Sol the first time and saw stars and planets he'd never before seen, he'd known that he couldn't stay in the Navy, couldn't deal with the restrictions, the bullshit, the goddamned paperwork. As soon as he'd had a chance he'd gone AWOL and never looked back.  
  
    He stole another look at Shepard. Shepard who was free despite the bonds of her dogtags, Shepard the first human Spectre, Commander Shepard, the one and only. He wasn't sure how someone so strong could let herself be kept like that.  
  
    And it occurred to him that that was exactly what it was. She _let_ herself be kept. She'd chosen—twice—to be with the Alliance. She'd chosen for a time to be with Cerberus, until their goals and hers had diverged; when she'd wanted to leave, she'd just left. Just up and walked away with the most innovative and powerful starship in the galaxy, because that was what she wanted. If the Alliance ever fucked her over, she would walk away from them, too.  
  
    Stealthily, he stretched out a hand and curled it around Shepard's foot. Still watching the vid, Shepard slid down the couch to rest her feet in his lap. Zaeed drew off her socks, dropped them to the floor, and began to massage her feet, one at a time. Shepard made soft pleasured noises. The Hallex was working on her too. Zaeed smiled to himself. Good; whatever helped.  
  
    She wriggled her toes and sighed. "That feels nice," she said. "Wanna do the rest of me?"  
  
    "Thought you wanted to watch your vid."  
  
    Shepard sat up to look at him. "I can watch a vid anytime. Having you here alone, that's something else."  
  
    He squeezed her foot gently, watched her face for a reaction. She blinked slowly again and her pupils were extremely dilated. "What's the word, Shepard?" he asked softly.  
  
    "If we never see each other again after the war," she said, and pulled her feet away from him, knelt on all fours beside him. "If you run off and retire like you keep threatening to do and I never see you again, at least we can have tonight. Right?"  
  
    "Shepard," he said, "when the war is over, if I get through it alive in order to retire, I will still have every goddamn second we ever spent together."  
  
 _You're an idiot, Massani._  
  
 _I know. Shouldn't be drinking with Hallex, not even beer. Bad combination._  
  
    Shepard slid off the couch, grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet, leaned against him. He splayed his legs, caught her hips in his hands and yanked her against him. She shuddered and rested her hands on his shoulders, slid them up over his neck and cupped his cheeks in her palms. He turned his head to kiss her hands, each in turn.  
  
    "I like the way this feels," she told him softly.  
  
    "What, the Hallex?"  
  
    "That, too. Want to come join me in the bath?"  
  
    "That goddamn swimming pool up in your bedroom?"  
  
    She laughed softly. "Yeah, that one."  
  
    "Yeah, all right."  
  
    She pulled away from him and caught his hands in hers, turned to lead him up the stairs and paused for a moment. She stroked the bannister with one hand, leaned down and touched it with her tongue.  
  
    "Shepard?"  
  
    She grinned and sprinted up the stairs. Zaeed followed, slower, amused. His own first Hallex high had been a fascinating experience. He hadn't wanted to lick a bannister, but he'd done some other things that had nearly gotten him arrested.  
  
    He found Shepard already in the tub, still dressed. She looked up at him, rapturous. "Having fun?" he wondered.  
  
    "Come in here," she said. "I want to lick you."  
  
    "Yeah, that's nice. Maybe you shouldn't be wearing your uniform in there."  
  
    "You're right," she exclaimed, and her eyes widened. She pulled herself out of the tub, dripping, passed him on the way to the wardrobe. He watched as she dropped her wet clothes on the floor and stood there in her underthings. "You get naked," she ordered him.  
  
    "All right," he said, but he stood where he was. She vanished into the wardrobe, and he heard her moving about.  
  
    She exited wearing a long, dark blue ballgown that clung to her body and plunged dangerously low in front. "Zip me up," she said, and turned her back to him.  
  
    Zaeed crossed the floor, rested his hands on her wet shoulders. "Why do you even have this in your wardrobe?" he wondered. He leaned down to kiss water droplets from the back of her neck.  
  
    "Formal functions that don't require dress blues," she said. "Not often. Zip me up."  
  
    He lifted a hand and trailed the backs of his fingers down the curve of her exposed back, slid both hands inside the gown and around to the front of her. Shepard shuddered and leaned back against him. He cupped a bare breast in one hand, tucked the fingers of the other beneath her wet panties, sucked gently at the back of her neck.  
  
    "This," Shepard breathed, "isn't getting my dress zipped up."  
  
    "No," he agreed. "But I think you don't really want it zipped."  
  
    "It has to be zipped if I'm to wear it in the bath."  
  
    "You don't want to wear that in the bath." He caught the top of her ear in his teeth and pulled her tighter to him. She was warm, her body soft and strong against him, and she swayed slightly in his arms. His fingers slid downward, exploring, and Shepard inhaled sharply. She lifted her arms up over her head, back to thread her fingers through his hair.  
  
    He walked her backward to the bed, sat down with her on his lap, rolled so Shepard was on her knees, bent over the bed. He hiked the dress up over her hips, tugged her panties down and tossed his own trousers and shorts aside. Once he was inside her he slid his hands back beneath the dress to catch her breasts, tweaked and stroked and massaged them gently and Shepard came swiftly, shaking and babbling incoherently. He lifted her against him, his chest pressed to her back, and she dropped her head to his shoulder. He kissed her ear, her jaw, her neck, but avoided her mouth; she didn't like to be kissed on the mouth, and he wanted nothing to disturb her pleasure. He withdrew and stood with her, turned her to face him. She licked his chest, sucked a little on each of his nipples, traced the lines of his tattoos with her tongue.  
  
    "They have a taste," she murmured, and continued to lick lower until she dropped to her knees in front of him, took his cock into both hands and fondled the length of him. "Did it hurt?" she wondered. "Getting this ink?" Her fingertips followed the pattern that wound 'round from base to tip, and Zaeed suppressed a shiver.  
  
    "A little," he admitted. "I was pretty goddamn drunk at the time so I don't recall clearly." Shepard locked her eyes on his and drew her tongue around him, took just the tip into her mouth. He thrust involuntarily and she grasped his hips to steady herself. Zaeed reached down and yanked at the fat bun of her hair, pulled out the two pins that held it so perfectly in place. He wove his fingers into her hair just as Shepard took his whole length into her mouth, into her throat, and he groaned and thrust again. One hand tickled his balls, enough to make him jump; he spread his legs a little, and she reached back to stroke the sensitive area between his legs.  
  
    When he came it lasted forever, and all he knew was Shepard's lips and tongue, Shepard's blue eyes dark on his as she sucked him clean. When at last she released him he sank to his knees in front of her, wanting nothing more than to kiss her mouth, aware even in the thrall of the drug that she would not want him to. Instead he smoothed her hair away from her face, wrapped an arm around her waist, kissed her collarbone and nuzzled his way down to her breasts.  
  
    The rest of the night was a blur that he recalled only in dreamy moments: Shepard beneath him on the floor; Shepard atop him on the bed. Shepard, twined around him in the bath, licking water from his skin and biting him none too gently. He bit her back in the hope it would leave marks, something to remember him by.  
  
    Shepard, submissive against the wall as he held her hands above her head and fucked her hard, desperate to be able to keep some part of her with him, angry at himself for feeling that way, anguished because he knew—somehow—this war was going to kill her at last, when nothing else ever had.  
  
    When he woke in the morning, his mind only a little foggy, they were once more in the bed together, twined around one another like newlyweds. He smoothed her hair away from her face and she did not wake. He hoped the Hallex hangover wouldn't slow her too much, hoped she woke a little refreshed. With care he slid away from her, tiptoed around the room to gather his things, carried them out of the bedroom and downstairs. In the guest washroom he showered and dried himself, folded the towel he'd used and put it back in place. He pulled on his shorts, his underarmour, and combed his hair and was careful not to meet his own gaze in the mirror. He turned away and retrieved his armour from the foyer, put it on as quietly as he could. It didn't rattle, at least.  
  
    He set the apartment door to lock automatically and he shut it carefully, quietly. He took a deep breath and walked out into the artificial sunshine that lit the Strip. Not far away was a rapid transit station, and he used this to get back to the docks. 

* * *

  
    He was on Earth when Shepard called to say good-bye. She didn't say the words, of course, but he knew that was why she had called. He kept his tone casual. He was a warrior, after all, and so was she; this was the way things went, in war. When the call was disconnected, he walked to a quiet alley and wasted several clips destroying an innocent trash can, before he returned to the crew he was supposed to lead into the final battle.  
  
    And when it was over—somehow, no one knew how, Shepard managed to kill every single fucking Reaper, every husk, every banshee and brute and marauder—he was stranded on Earth, forced to be there knowing that somewhere in London was Shepard's beautiful body, shattered by war and remembered for all the wrong things. He went numbly about his days, assisting in rescue efforts, until weeks later when he heard that a ship was finally leaving the planet. He made sure he was on that ship, his duffel lighter than it once had been, and he left Earth for the last time.  
  
    He took a few jobs here and there, just enough to keep himself drunk, to keep a roof over his head and his weapons full of thermal clips. He ended up, eventually, on Omega, at Afterlife, and it was there he heard her name. He listened. Six months after Shepard had been lost in the war, people were still talking about her.  
  
    He listened.  
  
    Shepard was alive, but being held by the Alliance. Shepard was alive, but on the run from the Alliance. Shepard was alive but had lost all memory of her past, and had been locked in an institution. Shepard was alive, but had had surgery to alter her face so no one could recognise her.  
  
    Shepard was alive.  
  
    He listened for four months, until he cornered a very intoxicated salarian in one of Afterlife's private cubbies, a salarian who confessed that he had been on the team that had put Shepard back together on a secret facility in Council space. The salarian didn't know where Shepard had gone after her recovery—he'd only been part of the surgical team. The bills had been paid privately and not by the Alliance.  
  
    There was only one place to find out for sure, Zaeed supposed, as he left the salarian to his drink.  
  
    He found an extranet terminal that was functioning and he closed his eyes a moment. In his line of work, keeping actual records was potentially dangerous. He memorised what he needed and knew how to recall it when it was needed again.  
  
    He opened his eyes and typed an address, hoped it was still working; he composed an email swiftly and sent it.  
  
    Liara would know if Shepard was alive.  
  
    He waited.

**Author's Note:**

> I commissioned a piece of art from [choco-minto](http://choco-minto.tumblr.com) of Zaeed and my Shepard "doing something adorable". With just that for guidance, she created [an extremely adorable piece](http://choco-minto.tumblr.com/image/75946339916%0A) of Zaeed and Shepard playing with the claw machine. 
> 
> Shepard seems delighted; Zaeed a little uneasy. It was perfect. I had to write it.


End file.
